According to his custom Josiah breakfasted early and had gone to his den to look over his mail. Mary passed gaily through the library, but it wasn't long before she was back at the dining room door, looking as though she had seen a ghost.
"Come—come and look," she choked. "Something—something terrible—"
Josiah sat, half collapsed, in his chair. Before him, on the desk, lay his mail. Some he had read. Some he would never, never read.
"He must have had a stroke," said Miss Cordelia, her arms around Mary; and looking at her brother she whispered, "I think something upset him."
When they had sent for the doctor and had taken Mary away, they returned to look over the letters which Josiah had opened as his last mortal act.
"I don't see anything in these that could have bothered him," said Miss
Cordelia, fearfully looking.
"What's this?" asked Miss Patty, picking up an empty envelope from the floor.
It was post-marked "Rio de Janeiro" and the date showed that it had taken three weeks to make the journey.
"I have some recollection of that writing," said Miss Cordelia.
"So have I," said Miss Patty in a low voice, "but where's the letter?"